


To Catch a Thief Affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Cat Burglars, Gen, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 23:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Somebody's robbing guests staying in the swankiest hotels in New York City. Waverly send in his agents to investigate as a favor to a friend.





	1. Chapter 1

The prompt:  
  


  
  


There had been a series of robberies in some of the swankiest hotels in New York city as of late, more than usual and seemed to be the work of what one could call a serial cat burglar. The police weren’t contacted as the incidents were handled by the house detectives, but in spite of their thorough investigations they couldn’t come up with any reasonable clues.

Everything had been kept quiet as the hotels in question didn’t want word to leak out to the public; doing so might damage their establishment’s reputations and frighten away the rich and famous.

Among these hotels were the the Waldorf-Astoria, the Savoy Plaza, the Drake Hotel and the Biltmore, just to name a few.

Wealthy guests who’d been robbed of their gems and jewels often visited their favorite hotels under assumed names to avoid the gossip columnists and celebrity seekers, or simply because these guests weren’t always with their respective spouses.

No one but the hotel managers knew of identities of certain guests staying at their establishments, and their reputations were above reproach. Yet it was these incognito guests who were the ones who had been robbed.

The manager of the Biltmore was a friend of Alexander Waverly’s and out of desperation he contacted him, begging U.N.C.L.E. to help solve these string of cat burglaries and keep news of them out of the public eye.

 It took a burglar to know one, and what better agent to assign to solve the mystery but Waverly’s best second story man, Illya Kuryakin.

First on the Russian’s agenda was to figure out how these robberies were committed. Since there were no signs of a forced entry, the possibility of duplicate keys came into question, or of course the locks could have been picked. There were always tell tale signs when a lock pic had been used, and after examining them all he found nothing to indicate they’d been tampered with.

Napoleon investigated the staff, as each hotel was convinced it was in inside job. The employees at each establishment affected were thoroughly vetted with photographs of staff members supplied;  they all  matched their employment records. No one was unaccounted for, including the guests who stayed at their respective hotels on the nights of the robberies.

None of the staff members worked at any of the other hotels, nor did any of the guests switch to different accommodations. They were loyal to the hotels which they favored.

Still none of this answered the question of how the private guest information could have been obtained. All the managers and concierges agreed to take lie detector tests, and each passed with flying colors.

Kuryakin and Solo wondered if it could possibly be a grand conspiracy between the hotel workers, but it seemed nearly impossible to coordinate these robberies especially since the identities of the wealthy guests had been kept completely secret once the pattern of robberies had become clearer.

“Was the thief a mind reader?” Napoleon spoke aloud.

“I hardly think that is possible,” Illya snickered.”Unless someone has invented a new mind reading machine.” *

With the help of Agents Dancer and Slate, Illya set up his trap as that seemed the only way now to catch the thief. As the lure, April was to impersonate a wealthy woman.

She made a grand and obvious entrance into the Biltmore wearing a stunning peach colored Chanel suit, and matching pillbox hat. Draped over her shoulder was a white mink stole. Diamonds set in white gold adorned her neck, wrists and earlobes and made for quite an eye catching sight as they glittered each time she moved.

Standing beside  her was Mark Slate dressed as her chauffeur and he was carrying her matching leopard pattern luggage.

The Manager dutifully asked if she would like to place her valuables in the hotel safe, unaware she was an UNCLE plant.

“Darling, I enjoy my baubles and would feel naked without them.” She placed a small silver jewelry case on the front desk and tapped it with a white gloved hand, intimating there were more valuables within it.

“I’ve stayed her dozens of times and had never a concern for their safely.”

“Yes Miss Greyson?” he turned the register to see her signature, as he didn’t recall a woman by that name.”

“Don’t worry dear, that’s my real name, My nom de guerre is Sylvia Starr. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“Oh yes Miss Starr the author. We’re honored to have you here back at the Ritz.” Ever the diplomat he died of course as he still couldn’t recall Miss Starr having been there before. Perhaps the other night manager knew her. What did it matter, she was here now.

None of the management or staff were let in on the UNCLE plan, just to b on the safe side.

“Please be sure to use Miss Greyson when you address please. I don’t want to be bothered by the press and such. I’m just here on holiday and to see a few of my friends. You know the Vanderbilts and Astors. I’ll take my usual suite.

She could see the look of panic in the man’s eyes and whispered to him.

“The Presidential suite darling.”

There was a private elevator that went directly to the Presidential Suite.

Italian gardens decorated the rooftop between the north and south towers, and in the winter, the gardens were converted into an ice skating rink.

She turned her attention to her partner. “Marcus if you could please have my town car ready for me at seven this evening to take me to the Museum of Modern Art, after which I’ll be having supper with my friends a the 21 club.” April made sure her announcement was loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear it clearly.

That was the ruse, indicating she’d be gone quite some time, hours to say the least.

“Yes mum.” Mark tried not to grunt with the weight of the suit cases.

They took the private elevator up to the suite and, April called out to the Russian.

“You can come out darling, the coast is clear.”

Illya exited the bedroom, as had been waiting there in the darkness.

“Everything is set,” April said.

“Yeah mate, she couldn’t have announced her plans for the evening any louder. If the jewelry she’s wearing sparkled any brighter I would’ve need a pair of sunglasses,” Mark chuckled.

Slate left, going to get the Towncar that he merely planned to drive around the corner and hide on a side street once they were off on their supposed journey. They had no intention going to a museum or a club. They’d remain nearby to back up Kuryakin should the cat burglar arrive.

Napoleon was stationed nearby as well, while Illya waited in the darkness.

The jewelry case had been left out and open on a coffee table, directly under a high hat light that illuminated it. None of it was real, as all of it were fabulous fakes, but a burglar in a hurry wouldn’t have time to thoroughly examine the pieces with a jeweler’s loupe.

Kuryakin waited and waited but nothing happened. No one took the bait, that was if the thief was even around.

After receiving word that nothing had happened, April and Mark returned around one in the morning.

“Don’t worry darlings, we’ll try again tomorrow.” April reassured.” April flopped on the sofa in the sitting room. “Now if you all don’t mind, I’m tired and would like to take a hot bath and go to bed. Walking around in these high heels is killing my back.”

“Care for some company,” Napoleon flirted.

“No, now go away you lecherous boy,” she teased.

Napoleon raised a shoulder, feigning being miffed as he rolled his eyes.

“Well I never!”

That gave April and the others a momentary laugh.

“If ever there was a bold faced lie, it was that,” she said.

“Hey, can’t blame a red blooded American guy for trying,” Napoleon winked.

“Good night boys, see you in the morning. Oh and Mr. Waverly asked me to remind you to take it easy on the room service.” She quickly ushered them to the door.

She got to stay there in the Presidential suite, while the others would bed down in another nearby room.

April disappeared to the bath and ran her bath, adding some soothing bath salts. She stripped, and slowly lowered herself into the soothing water.

She added a little strawberry bubble bath and stirred the water until it was all frothy.

Canting her head to the side, she heard a click and very slowly took hold of her silver pistol she’d laid on the edge of the marble tub.

“Hi there,” Napoleon whispered.

“You just don’t take no for an answer do you,” she smiled.

“I was feeling a bit lonely, and I have a little pain, well not little if you get my drift that needs some help.”

“Oh all right, get in.” April giggled.

Napoleon stripped down and did just that, leaning over on top of April and kissing her.  Some water overflowed from the tub.

“Hmm, I believe that’s Archimedes principle of displacement,” he finally stopped kissing her.” In fluid mechanics, displacement happens when an object is immersed in a fluid, pushing it out of the way and taking its place. The volume of the fluid displaced can then be measured, and from this the volume of the immersed object can be deduced, that is the volume of the immersed object will be exactly equal to the volume of the displaced fluid. An object that sinks displaces an amount of fluid equal to the object's volume….”

April pressed a finger to his lips to silence him.“I see Illya is starting to rub off on you darling.”

“No talk of Illya; there’s only one kind of rubbing I want to engage in,” Solo winked at her.

“Well what’s taking you so long,” April purred.

 

Next day Kuryakin’s trap was repeated, giving the thief an opportunity during the day, and then again at night but still nothing happened.The ruse was again set for a one more night but still resulted in failure.

No other robberies had taken place at any other hotels, and after the third night at the Biltmore, the agents checked out.

After returning to headquarters they gathered in the agent’s conference room, going through all the robbery information with a fine tooth comb until late in the evening.

“Cor,” Mark snapped his fingers. “Look at all the victims, other than being wealthy and robbed what do they have in common?”

The others thumbed through the dossiers, “I give up,” Solo finally said.

“Everyone of them is older. Maybe that’s why April as bait didn’t work?”

It was Napoleon who made the next astute observation. The guests who’d been robbed in all the hotels were older women, some with their husbands, others alone. Another thing in common was that all the people robbed were staying in suites on the upper floors of the hotels,

Illya turned to Mr. Waverly,” I have an idea.”

It was Illya’s thinking that the Presidential Suite having but one access via the private elevator was too confined, and the thief might feel somewhat pinned in.

Two days later a refined older couple enter the Biltmore. Dressed in a tweed and a holding the mouthpiece of a  Briar pipe between his lips; the gentleman addressed the concierge.

“Duke William de Beaumont, of Warwick and his wife the Duchess Margaret,” the gentleman announced. “We’d like a suite for the next few days if you please my good man.”

His wife was wearing a sable stole, covering her deep burgundy dress. On her head was a large burgundy hat with a feathers, the type the British liked to wear. Her wrist was covered in diamond and gold bracelets dripping in gems and jewels.

  
“Welcome your Grace. This is your first time visiting our humble establishment?”“Yes, it was highly recommended by an acquaintance, a Miss Greyson. I believe you know her.”

“Oh yes lovely woman; she was just here but two days ago.”

“Yes we know dearest,” the Duchess spoke up.

“I can offer you the Presidential suite your Grace.”

“No that won’t be necessary, one on the upper floor will do nicely,’ the Duke replied.

“Yes, I do so enjoy a good view,” the Duchess added.

“Duchess Margaret,” the concierge addressed her.”Would you care to lock up your valuables in the hotel safe?”

“Oh dear boy, that’s such an annoyance. I have no worries that they’ll be secure enough in our suite."

The Duke turned to his chauffeur, instructing them to have the Rolls ready at seven, as they’d be dining at the British consulate with the Ambassador and his family.

“Yes your Grace,” Kit Kittridge bowed his head.

The Duke and Duchess were escorted to their suite on the uppermost floor and once inside they relaxed.

“Alexander, this is quite exciting to be a part of one of your operations," Estelle Waverly smiled as she unpacked their bags.  They had to have enough luggage to play their parts. Several suits and a tux were in order, finery, furs and elegant dresses for Mrs. Waverly as well.

“Darling, these things are hardly exciting. They can be dangerous. I caution you to curb your enthusiasm. However, I think just as a precaution you should have a weapon. “He handed her a small pistol, a suitable size for a woman to hide in her purse.” Just be careful my dear not to shoot any of my people.”

“Alexander please, I may be older but my sight and my aim are doing fine.”

There was a coded knock on the door, and was recognized as Solo’s. Waverly let him in, and he was followed by Kuryakin.

“The stage has been set gentleman,” the Old man said.

 

  
* ref to "The Foxes and Hounds Affair


	2. Chapter 2

The Waverly’s aka The Duke and Duchess of Warwick were dressed to the nines in preparation for their supposed dinner at the British consulate.

Estelle left her jewelry case out in the open as Mr. Kuryakin had requested, and placed it on a table next to a floor lamp that was left on.

As it was time to set the plan in motion, Solo and Kuryakin knocked on the Waverly’s door and were let in.

“My Mrs. Waverly you are absolutely stunning,” Napoleon bowed, kissing her gloved hand.

“Oh my, Alexander perhaps you need to take a page from Mr. Solo’s play book.”

“Oh pish posh enough of that my dear. I believe you and I are due downstairs as Mr. Kittridge will be here any moment with the Rolls. Good luck gentlemen, and please contact me as soon as you succeed in catching the culprit.”

“Yes sir,” the agents both responded.

As the Waverlys departed Napoleon walked over to the jewelry case; nestled in an interior of blue velvet were sparkling diamond bracelets, a brooch that looked like a leopard with gleaming emerald eyes. There were rings inlaid with rubies, sapphires and all manner of precious gems, but outshining them all was a scintillating diamond tiara.

He picked it up, examining it. “Wow, if I didn’t already know this was fake...”

“That is the idea,”Illya said. “ Now put down the pretty jewelry before you smudge the stones.”

Napoleon gave his partner a dirty look. “Okay tovarisch, you’re on your own. I’ll be listening in next door in case you need me.”

“Most reassuring, now out.”

Illya locked the door once Solo left, giving him a few minutes to get to the suite next door before checking his microphone.

“Testing one two three. Can you hear me Napoleon?”

Illya touched a finger to his ear piece.

“Coming through and me?”

“Clear as a bell my friend.”

“Roger that,” Solo responded and decided to pass the time for the moment, talking about his relationship with Dancer.

“Do you think Mark has any idea about me and April?”

“If he did not, then I would think he was a poor spy. If he was concerned about you and she, I am sure you would have heard about it. Personally I think Mark is somewhat enamored of his partner.”

“I know, and so does she.”

“And she has said nothing to him?”

“When the time comes she’ll…

“Hush, I hear something,” this time Illya whispered, before setting his communicator down.

There was a noise coming from one of the windows, and slowly it was opened. Considering they were on the 21st floor, that was a bold move even to one with the level of second story skills that Kuryakin possessed.

He watched a figure dressed completely in black come inside, creeping like a spider. The person’s face was covered by a black balaclava and the only thing showing was were the eyes, blue from what he could see.

Illya waited in the darkened corner for the burglar to approach the jewel case, and as the visitor picked up the tiara, he suddenly tossed after a quick look, he made a mad dash to the window and dove through it.

Considering what floor they were on that was a pretty dangerous thing to do. Before Illya could reach him, he was gone. As the Russian made it to the window, Solo came dashing inside.

“What happened?”

Illya stuck his head out the open window, seeing no one on the ledge, nor a rope from which the thief could have dangled from in order to enter, and there was definitely no body on the street below.

“The roof, “ he barked.

He and Napoleon dashed up the stairs and there they searched the gardens, but found no one.

“Look,” Solo called out,” He picked up a balaclava abandoned on a walkway beside a wooden bench.

They quickly headed down to the lobby via the elevator finding it vacant except for the night manager, who they immediately approached. Napoleon asked him point blank.

“Did anyone come into the lobby either by the stairs or elevator in the last ten minutes or so?”

“No sir,” the man shook his head. “I’ve seen no one. Though the main elevator was in use. It stopped at the fifth floor, then you both came down in elevator number two just now.”

“The main elevator...going up or down?” Illya asked.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t notice. Is there a problem?” The older gentleman asked.

They didn’t answer and headed to the main elevator, taking it up to the fifth floor. There was no one there other than a young freckle faced bellhop returning with a room service cart from the kitchen. He was waiting to get on the elevator.

“Excuse me,” Illya asked,” did you see anyone else enter this floor recently?”

“No sir. It’s pretty quiet here around this time of night. Is there anything I can help you with?

“No, thank you,” Illya said.

You’re on the twenty-first floor right?”

“How do you know that?”

“I brought up the luggage for the Duke and Duchess and I saw you coming out of your suite next door to theirs. How cool is it that we have royalty here in the Biltmore.”

“They are considered nobility but not royalty, though they are generally well to do,” Illya corrected the boy.

“Gee Mister, thanks. I never knew that.”The boy’s brown eyes widened as he smiled.

The bellboy left, and the agents quickly checked the rooms, they knocked on the doors, claiming to be house security and were checking on guests to make sure all was well.

Asking for ID, Illya was able to verify they were legitimate immediately thanks to his eidetic memory.

The empty rooms, thanks to a master key, allowed Solo and Kuryakin to search. They were all empty.

They returned upstairs to the 21st floor, waiting in the Waverly’s suite for their return. They’d lost their quarry and nothing could be done about it at the moment. The one thing on their side though was that the thief most likely didn’t know they were chasing him.

Illya looked to the baubles in the jewelry case, puzzled at how the thief could have guessed they were fakes so quickly. He picked up the tiara, examining it more closely.

“Chyort!” He swore in Russian. “Look at this! I will be having a word with supply.” He pointed to a hallmark on the back of the tiara stating, ‘Made in Japan.’

Napoleon contacted Mr . Waverly, letting him know the bad news.

“Dash it all! At this juncture we’ll have to try again with a different lure. I was hoping not to do this, but I will contact my friend at Tiffany’s and ask if we can have loan of a few pieces, as it’s obvious that paste will not do. We will be returning to the hotel shortly. Out.”

Napoleon closed his pen and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“Another lure but from Tiffany’s,” he repeated.

“I heard, though I am not sure it will make a difference. How do we know the thief will strike again at this hotel? He may have been spooked by the fake jewels. It is possible he may continue his spree elsewhere.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that tovarisch. We have no way of knowing where he’ll strike next and we can’t set up that many traps at once in all the high end hotels in the city; we just don’t have the manpower.”

“I know,” Illya sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated at their lack of success. “I am having doubts in my plan my friend.  For this burglar to have gotten in and out of this room so fast, without leaving a trace other than the balaclava on the roof has me truly baffled.”

“Hey, sometimes a plan works and sometimes it just doesn’t, no matter how badly we want it to.”

Illya suddenly spouted out a bit of poetry, “I am truly sorry man’s dominion, has broken nature’s social union, An’ justifies that ill opinion, which makes thee startle. At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,  an’ fellow-mortal!”*

Napoleon responded.“T’is true, the best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men gang aft agley, an’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, for promis’d joy! * Yes, tovarisch, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” He clapped a sympathetic hand on his partner’s shoulder.

“As always Napoleon, you are right,” Illya sighed.”Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help me to gain a fresh perspective in the morning.”

“Or a new plan?”

“Yes, I was thinking that as well.”

They heard the doorknob rattle and a key turning in the lock; instinctively they both grabbed their guns from their shoulder holsters.

“Relax gentlemen,”Waverly called before opening the door completely. “After you my dear,” he gestured to his wife.

“Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin,” she nodded. “Sorry to hear you weren’t able to capture our night visitor.”

“As are we,” Illya replied. “Sir, Mrs. Waverly if you will excuse us, we have had a long and frustrating day.”

“We’ll be next door if you need us,” Napoleon said.

“Yes, thank you Mr. Solo. Go ahead and order room service for yourselves...ahem, within reason.” He eyed Kuryakin.

“Yes sir, thank you,” Illya said as he and Solo slipped out the  door.

Once in the corridor Napoleon was able to read his partner better. “You’re second guessing yourself aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you go downstairs to the bar, have yourself a nice cocktail and I’ll order room service for us. A couple of steaks, baked potatoes, asparagus and how does German chocolate cake sound for dessert?”

“Two slices for me...please?” Illya’s blue eyes looked happier just for a second.

“Sure, since you asked so nicely,”Napoleon chuckled. “I don’t think the boss will mind. Now go down to the bar and have that drink. I’ll call you when dinner arrives.”

Next door Estelle Waverly hung up her husband’s suit in the closet as he crawled into bed. She did the same with her clothes, and put on a pale green nightgown and satin robe.

“I like this Alexander. We got to dress in some finery, though we only went back to headquarters. Now you’re getting to bed early, and I’m not staying awake for you to come home.”

“My darling, you have the patience of a saint. When this debacle is over with I’ll take you away for a weekend on the town. We haven’t done that for quite some time, and I think you are long overdue. We can go to the opera, dinner, dancing whatever your heart desires, and you can get all new finery to wear if you wish.”

“Oh I’d love that, but no need to go overboard. The clothing I have will do fine. “

“It’s your decision. Now enough chit-chat and come to bed.” He patted the mattress with his hand.

“In a few minutes. I’m afraid the excitement of the evening still has me a bit over stimulated. I’ll come to bed shortly. You go to sleep Alexander and have pleasant dreams,” she leaned over and gave him a peck on the forehead.

“Good night dear girl, don’t be long,” he whispered before closing his eyes.  
  
  
  
* from Robert Burns,‘To a Mouse’ 


	3. Chapter 3

Estelle walked out to the sitting room, closing the lights there; she sat down in the dark and lit a cigarette for herself. It was a habit she’d picked up during the war. With bombs dropping all around she and the other nurses and doctors who were tending the wounded in the hospital bomb shelter, something was needed to sooth their nerves. One of the other nurses offered her a fag to calm her one day and that was the start of it.

Over the years she smoked less and less, mostly during times of stress. Tonight was definitely stressful but in an exciting sort of way.  She’d been in U.N.C.L.E. headquarters before but it had always been for a social visit, usually on a holiday.

This evening being a part of an actual operation was quite thrilling. Though there was no real danger for her, it reminded her of her days during the war when one faced death and destruction. There was fear, yet there was determination and courage that saw you through those terrible times.

It was because of World War I that she met her husband, and Estelle liked to think that was the Lord’s reward to her for a job well done. *

As she puffed away on her cigarette she mused, Alexander had his pipe and she had her fags. What a pair they were, she a former nurse and he a former spy...well technically he still was one, but not active in the field as an agent. For that she was thankful.

His job had a terrible burden though, sending his people into harm’s way like a general with his troops.  He spent too many hours at his office, suffering in silence over the life and death situations, and decisions that sent some of his agents to their deaths.

Estelle knew that’s why he didn’t come home early. He was keeping those terrible feelings there at headquarters, working through them, and hiding them away until he was ready to come home so he wouldn’t have to burden her or the children with them.

Though his people at headquarters thought he never slept, Alexander very easily could, once he put aside the stress of his job. When he finally came home they would chat over tea, usually about her day, not his. It was only when something bad happened that she could see it in his eyes. He rarely would share ill tidings, but sometimes he did share his burdens with her.

Mrs. Waverly had left on five dazzling bracelets as she wanted to admire them just a little longer. Even though they weren’t real, they were pretty in spite of being a bit garish by comparison to the jewelry she usually wore.

Most of what she owned were Victorian pieces of gold and enamel that Alexander had given her over the years. She tended to favor brooches, but he did give her exquisite filigree platinum and diamond earrings with a matching lavalier pendant, for their  recent wedding anniversary.

As the smoke from her cigarette swirled around her she heard a noise coming from behind her.

“Alexander?”

.

Dinner arrived as had Kuryakin. He’d only allowed himself one vodka, but was happy Napoleon had ordered a bottle of red wine to go with dinner. As the two men happily ate their dinner in silence they both heard Mrs. Waverly’s voice call out her husband’s name.

The listening device sitting on nearby desk had been left on just a precaution in protecting the Waverly’s.  No one knew the CCO and his wife were there except for Napoleon, Illya, Slate and Dancer, and those two were both in their respective apartments snug in bed. Solo and Kuryakin were the security detail and planned to take turns sleeping during the night.

A shot rang out and the agents dropped everything; charging next door, their hearts in their throats with fear that one or both of the Waverly’s had been harmed.

The door to the suite was ajar and bursting in they found Mr. Waverly hovering over his wife with a gun in his hand.

Mrs. Waverly was sitting atop a prone figure who was dressed entirely in black and she had him pinned down. There was a small smoking gun in her hand.

“Apparently our cat burglar couldn’t resist a second try at the Duchess’ baubles,” she said rather calmly.

Illya pulled the balaclava from the thief’s head and to his and Napoleon’s surprise it was the freckle faced bellboy, except now his eyes were brown. He had long brown hair and apparently he was a she.

They picked her up and sat her down on a nearby burgundy settee.

“I think it’s time for you to start talking young lady,” Waverly huffed.

“Wait a moment Alexander, her arm is wounded and needs to be tended to,” Estelle insisted.  She fetched water and towels from the bath, and proceeded to clean and dress the injury.

“It was merely a flesh wound.”

“Hmm, and I was concerned about you using the gun, though I would surmise your aim wasn't as good as you thought it was my dear,”Waverly said.

“On the contrary my darling, I hit precisely where I aimed. I had no wish to kill our cat burglar as I was sure you’d want to question him, and now that we know he’s a she, I’m even more glad I didn’t kill her, which I could have easily done.”

Napoleon leaned close to his partner’s ear, whispering to him.

“Remind me to never piss off Mrs. Waverly tovarisch.”

Illya nodded his agreement.

“What is your name?” Kuryakin finally asked the girl.

“Adele, Adele Montenegro.”

“Wait,” Napoleon interrupted.”Isn’t that the night manager’s surname?”

“Indeed it is,”Waverly said.”My dear are you related to Richard Montenegro?”

“Yes sir, he’s my uncle.”

“There is no other Montenegro working here,” Illya recalled the list of employees.

“Was he aware of what you were doing?”Solo asked.

“Yes sir, it was me and my cousins. Uncle Richard said he would help out the family. He promised that my mother, who’s terribly ill would be taken care of. She’s in the hospital, and the bills are getting very big.”

“Did he now?” Waverly looked to his agents.

“I know what I was doing was wrong but I didn't know what else to do,”Adele began to cry and Estelle wrapped her arms around her, offering her a comforting shoulder on which to sob.

It turned out that Richard Montenegro was once known under a different name, and that was the “The Cat”...a burglar who, many years ago, prowled the Riviera, robbing the rich and famous until one day he just disappeared. He’d never been caught, and the authorities were unaware of his true identity.

Since the robberies stopped, it was assumed ‘the Cat’ had simply died, or retired to enjoy his ill gotten goods.

Since Montenegro was too old to continue in his former line of work, he became a concierge. Employed for years at a number of high end hotels; he established a flawless reputation.

As the money from his thievery over the years began to run low, he came up with a plan to train his needy niece and nephews to carry on the family traditions, though they didn't know that. Apparently Montenegro’s father was a cat burglar as well.

He would have his young apprentices escape to the roofs of the elevators, and hide there after each robbery had taken place. Montenegro would leave clues of discarded ropes and such, like the balaclava, on the hotel roofs and stairwells to throw off the scent and confuse any investigations as to how the burglar could have come and gone.

Once the coast was clear Adele or whichever family member he used would be let down into the elevator, surrender the goods and he’d have clothing in which they could change into, like the bellboy uniform.

If they had to remain atop the elevator for a prolonged period of time, he’d sneak food and water to them until they could leave.

In the end, the Montenegro family was rounded up; there would be punishment and rehabilitation involved for the children but nothing too severe. Out of the goodness of his heart Waverly made sure Adele’s mother was taken care of by the best doctors and her hospital bill was also seen to.

Most of the missing jewelry was recovered, found in a safety deposit box under Montenegro’s name at the Israel Discount Bank that had recently opened on Fifth Avenue.

As to Richard Montenegro, the former 'Cat', he was going to a prison that was virtually escape proof.

The man had used children to do his dirty work, making promises to them he never intended to keep. He was teaching them that stealing was acceptable, and tried to corrupt their young minds. That and orchestrating the theft of millions of dollars in jewelry sealed his fate, permanently.

As per Alexander Waverly, his confinement would be in a little place in Antarctica known as Tartarus...  
  
  


[* ref “Home is where the heart is”](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11880697/1/Home-is-where-the-heart-is)

 

Note: Tartarus is an UNCLE maximum security prison located in Antarctica. The concept originated with Gina Martin, aka GM in MFU fanfiction.


End file.
